Found this blog I wrote end of 2019 right before the pandemic hit us in 2020, we moved to Utah, and my husband was diagnosed with stage 4 terminal cancer, and my brother would finally be in jail for long enough to create change in him for good (so it seems right now and I’m praying for it)….man o’ man was God preparing us for battle.

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January 1, 2019, was not a day of celebration for me. Instead of watching the Rose Parade with fire ablaze in the living room of my in-laws, I spent the day in the passenger seat of our White Honda Odyssey convincing my brother to get into rehab via text while my husband muscled our car through Utah in a snow storm. And so set the stage for the rest of this year.

The rest of 2019 has been a year of transition for me. A year of waiting as I hold my breath for what’s next. And I’m praying that 2020 can let me see what all of this 2019 was for so I can finally breathe again.

Not many people know about this other than a couple of close friends. But my 35-year-old brother relapsed into his meth addiction. And we discovered it right before Christmas last year while on our annual family trip to Big Bear. A tradition we have enjoyed for a few years now.  And this isn’t the usual meth addict brother who didn’t have much going on in his life and then slipped. This was a man who had so much.

A wife. Three boys. A home in a beautiful neighborhood. A church family and ministries. Close friends who were good people.

It was a great tragedy because with it, came great loss for not just us losing him, but him losing all he had.

I haven’t seen my brother since early January when my sister and I ate sushi with him, prayed over him, cried with him, and sent him off to rehab the next morning, for which he was supposed to stay 9 months before then piecing together the life he once had with his wife and children.

Well, he lasted like 5 days before he self-exited and I haven’t seen him since. He’s been back on meth since. It felt like a death in the family.

The first 4 months were the hardest. There was a lot of tears. A lot of guilt. A lot of not knowing if I was making the right choice in setting strong boundaries.  The brother I knew and love is still gone. The addict has taken over and he is quite different than my brother.  Now it has been a year. And there is no sign of him returning to rehab anytime soon. I miss my brother so much. I’ve been waiting all year for him to get help. For me to get my beloved brother back. But it’s not just my brother we lost. We used to spend at least one weekend a month with my brother’s wife and kids too. Our kids were best friends and my sister-in-law is quite dear to me. They have since moved away to heal and we have seen each other once in like 8 months.

I’m praying that 2020 is the year. The year of redemption. The year my brother no longer needs to self-medicate for his own depression, to heal from the wounds of our childhood, to redeem his relationship with his children and wife, with our family, and to rebuild his life. His relapse has been the overarching narrative for this year because it has been a daily trial in my life. I do not go a single day without saying a prayer for him. For thinking of him. Of my nephews and sister-in-law who now live life without him.

To add to the stress of this trial, we decided to sell our house last Spring. It was a great distraction in some ways from the drama of my family. But in the process of preparing our house to sell, we ripped out the mismatched tile in fixer-upper to lay down laminate and discovered a hot mess underneath the tile. So much of a hot mess that we had to pause the demo job to get some second opinions on how to resolve it and perhaps a more modest quote. Finding someone willing to fix it proved difficult, which left us walking on these dusty floors for 2 months until we finally got them fixed in June.

I’m allergic to dust.

The effects were awful. It put my body into an autoimmune attack and not only was I constantly blowing my nose for 2 months straight, but I developed symptoms of Hashimotos and Lupus.

I’m sure the stress from my brother didn’t help. The soft diagnosis of the two autoimmune diseases sent me into a pity party of believing that all the hard work I’ve done to eat healthy didn’t matter. Between the need to eat on-the-go more often due to the selling of our house that July as well as my own self-pity, I started to cheat on my low grain/low dairy diet which has helped me maintain my physical and mental health so well over the last couple of years.

So in August, one month after we moved into our beautiful new home in Oceanside, I came to realize I had also relapsed into depression– a mental state I have battled on and off my whole life and one that I had thought I overcame. But here I was on a warm summer day with an ocean breeze outside, in this beautiful 2 story house with my precious children playing outside on the green grass and my hard-working husband in his studio. And I’m irritable. I’m anxious. I feel no joy. And I’m in such of state of self-pity I don’t know how to pull out even though I wanted to. But I allowed myself to go too deep. I couldn’t even muster the will to return to the diet that had helped me.

I was angry. So angry.

Why am I so angry, God! I’m so angry and I sobbed on the floor of my bedroom upstairs, finally confessing it out loud to myself and to God, and later running to my phone to post the confession to my prayer group who prayed over me and ministered to me.

5 days of daily prayer it took.

Then on Sunday, August 24 while standing in my church sanctuary, worshipping, the Lord healed me. God works differently for different people. So I do not share the details for someone to try and replicate because there are so many layers. But for me, there was an element of choice in being healed, and God walked me through it.

“Step into my healing light,” He told me.

I did.

I don’t feel any different, God.

“Well, my daughter, do you believe I have healed you? If you are healed then be healed.”

How do I do that, Father?

“Smile,” He said.

And so I did. And as soon as I smiled, I felt the dark cloud float out the top of my head.

And thank God for that.

Another 5 days later, while I was managing my home and 4 kids by myself because Owen was in Ireland, emceeing a conference–I got the call that our good friend, Oddie Sloan had committed suicide.

Another day on the floor.

After that, it’s a bit of a blur.

I remember FaceTiming my husband to tell him the news before he found out through Facebook. I remember visiting Oddie’s family, opening the front door to greet my returning husband, and crying together on our couch.

I remember a brief weekend getaway in Palm Springs for a marriage retreat and then the funeral where I sat dressed in purple while my husband gave Oddie’s eulogy. And then the very next day, Owen developed sore lymph nodes on his neck.

The lymph node swelling didn’t get better but got worse and after Owen returned from a final conference in Utah, he slept a lot. It seemed like Oddie’s death had sent his body into an attack as well.

After 2 weeks of extreme fatigue and weakness, I suspected an Epstein Bar relapse and sent him to the doctor. She confirmed by his symptoms an Epstein Bar relapse as well which is similar to Mononucleosis.

Not the best timing when we just spent a chunk of money on a pricey business coach to help us scale our business. We tried to push through some of the calls and exercises, but after 2 more weeks, his symptoms were only getting worse.

He started swelling up. Then when the swelling on his neck moved to his face and then to his arms and torso, I suspected something else was going on. Blue spider web veins were starting to show up on his torso. I told the doctor about his symptoms. She agreed and said he needed to go to the hospital.

The fear of cancer really kicked in. I needed to tell Owen. I needed the strength to tell him.

A visit from our pastor came next, where he anointed Owen with oil and prayed over him led me to finally confess to my precious husband the difficult words…”This is not mono.”

I had looked up the symptoms and words the doctor gave me. It was Superior Vena Cava syndrome. And the number one cause was cancer.

We went to the ER that morning and after 5 hours of crying and braving through the expected diagnosis and coming months of more chemotherapy and radiation, like we did 4 years ago when he was diagnosed with stage 3 thymus cancer— we learned that he indeed had SVC syndrome, but it was due to blood clots, not cancer. We praised God rejoicefully in front of a bewildered and confused doctor who just told us the terrible news.

After six days he spent in the hospital– my amazing family swept in and watched my kids, took them to school, and put them to bed. My church family sent meals, And I slept in a cot next to my husband every night there as the doctors worked to open up the largest vein leading to his heart that had closed completely shut from scar tissue due to the radiation he received 4 years prior.

They sucked the clots out of his arms and neck that had formed from lack of blood flow. And they pumped him full of blood thinners that he is still on at this moment while we wait for approval for a stent. “We don’t know how you are still alive, ” the doctors told us. We know it’s because God is not done with him yet. He is setting the stage for something ahead.

Now we are in the healing stage. Healing from the wounds left from losing family members, from cancer’s radiation, from autoimmune attacks, and from the ravages of depression, I’m developing a strong desire to conquer. I am so sick and tired of death and addiction and disease and depression. I long for the return of my savior and to finally be done.

But I don’t think that is happening in 2020. Instead, I believe God is setting the stage for battle. For testimonies that fuel ministries that change the world. For the first time in my life, the idea and desire to adopt a baby has taken root in not only my heart but my husband’s heart. The recognition and compassion have grown in our hearts as we come to see so many of us are battling these 4 evils too. And we need each other and our creator to overcome them.

Will 2020 be the year for redemption for my brother? Will this be the year where the disease of depression and addiction get vacated? That the only thing death conquers is the addict and not my brother– that instead he be resurrected and restored?